


Six of One

by SegaBarrett



Category: Orange is the New Black
Genre: Backstory, Difficult Pregnancy, Domestic Violence, Drug Use, Gen, Non-con resulting in pregnancy, Tiffany's lawyer is a complete asshole, past abortions, post-Season 1
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-31
Updated: 2013-12-31
Packaged: 2018-01-06 22:18:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,612
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1112172
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SegaBarrett/pseuds/SegaBarrett
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tiffany finds herself in a not totally unfamiliar dilemma.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Six of One

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own Orange is the New Black, and I make no money from this.
> 
> A/N: Written for hc_bingo, prompt, wildcard - "difficult pregnancy".

She should’ve known. Shoulda, shoulda, shoulda known but didn’t.

It hadn’t been against her will, exactly, at least that’s what Tiffany told herself, but still, she shoulda known. Should have figured when he had come to her with promises of help on her case in the first place and told her all the beautiful stories she found herself believing in; who could blame her? It was all she had; he was all he had.

And then he’d come to talk to her about what had happened with Chapman, what had led to her getting her face beat in and spending three weeks in the hospital eating through a straw. She was doped up on painkillers and could barely talk and he had said something, what was it though? It was all hazy and she could barely remember. It wasn’t like it was something she hadn’t done before, enough to warrant five trips to the clinic and five times leaving, doped up on painkillers again and wondering if maybe she should have made the other choice that time.

It was easier to point the finger when it was some faceless person, some immoral person, rather than her screwing up her own life over and over again.  
She hadn’t planned to speak a word. Who would believe her, anyway? Everyone was fed up with “Pennsetucky” and her antics; even Leanne didn’t seem to have much use for her anymore. 

It had been a lot easier to not speak a word before she’d missed her period three months in a row.

***

She was peeking through the bars of the staircase, her hands wrapped around each one like they would hold her up if she started drowning. She was crouched, ready to spring into action and jump back into bed if either of them made their way upstairs; she knew if they caught her out of bed then she’d really get it.

She was so tiny, bone-thin and with short wispy brown hair. Her face was too small and her neck too big; she was so awkward looking she could barely stand it. 

The house was crumbling around her.

“Sandy, I’m fed up with your bullshit!” her mother was screaming. “I either want a fucking ring on my finger or I’ll just go fuck whoever I want, since you think I’m sleeping around anyway!”

She heard rather than saw him grab her. 

“Listen you bitch, I have half a mind to snap your neck right now! Do you understand me?”

“Just try it! I ought to call the cops on you – my mama was right, you’re nothing but a goddamn loser Sandy!”

Tiffany winced as she heard the failure sound of a fist smacking against flesh. She pressed her hands over her ears but didn’t dare to make a sound. 

***

Leanne finally said something when Tiffany caught her peeking, one eye open, as Tiffany leaned over the cell’s plastic trashcan and threw up for the third time this week.

“What are you looking at?” she grumbled, moving off of her knees and up on to her feet, wiping her face and her still-stinging gums.

“You okay, ‘Tucky?” Leanne inquired. God, she hated that nickname.

“Yeah, I’m fine. Must have been something I ate,” Tiffany muttered. “Red’s probably trying to poison me, what with all her…” She tried to finish it with some attack on all of Red’s lesbian “daughters”, but found herself without the effort. She’d have to figure out something to do. She would have had an easy enough escape hatch in her old life, of course she would.

***

She had wanted the first one. Really she had. She’d pictured buying baby clothes and walking with a stroller, holding the baby girl – for in her mind, for some reason, it was always a girl – against her chest and rocking her, whispering the sweetest words, not that it mattered what they were.

Babies loved you regardless, after all.

But she’d thought better of it, of course. She remembered watching her parents fight, remembered how her father had left not that long after. She was relieved at first, glad to not have to sit there and listen to him smack her mother around.

But of course her mother had quickly replaced him with men who were exact carbon copies.

Her father sent her a postcard from New Mexico, once, with the picture of his new wife and new son, who had soft blonde hair and big wide eyes. Nice replacement family.

She had scheduled her appointment with the clinic later that day. Meth loved you regardless.

***

It was a Tuesday when Tiffany heard they had finally let Chapman out of SHU. She wished she could be angry, relieved, or feel something at least, but instead her head was full of other things, full of too many worries to fit any more on the list.

She walked by Tiffany, and there was something in her that dared her to say something.

She did.

Her eyes went wide, nearly doe-eyed in a way, and she mumbled, “You’re pregnant.” Like she was almost offended.

Tiffany crossed her arms over her stomach and rolled her eyes. 

“What do you know about it?”

“I can help you.”

Tiffany snorted.

“I don’t need your help, College.”

“Well, answer me this.” She just wouldn’t shut up, would she? “What are you going to do when the baby is born? Who’s going to take care of it?”

Tiffany kept walking. She would snap the girl’s neck, shiv her maybe, but she didn’t have the effort.

“I can help you,” Chapman called again.

***

They tried to ask her about it, because of course that kind of thing shouldn’t go on in prisons. 

She didn’t tell them anything; she wasn’t going to rat on the one person she still had, the person who had sent her life in a new direction besides; the person who had shown her the light.

The months went by, quickly, with Vause smirking at her and Chapman catching her arm in the halls to tell her that her fiancé and his father could do something to help the kid, find someone to watch over them so they wouldn’t end up in foster care. Everyone knew that Chapman and her fiancé had called it quits months ago.

What did Chapman know? She didn’t even know the right gender.

_She._

***

She didn’t keep the second because it didn’t seem far when she hadn’t kept the first. She didn’t let herself picture how that would be, just rode down to the clinic and made another appointment, not looking at anyone but distracting herself by looking forward to the painkillers she’d get after. They had a hell of a buzz.

The third, the fourth, the fifth. The fateful fifth which had landed her in jail.

If she’d just had them all she’d be a mother instead of an inmate.

If she’d had the first maybe the other five would have never even existed. They were all so close together, anyway. 

She pictured them, teeny baseball outfits and cheerleading practice. 

She pictured them, meth addicts and drug dealers. That was probably more likely.

Part of her thought she should name them. 

But how did you name a person you never knew?

***

It was a Wednesday when Tiffany went into labor in the middle of the movie-of-the-week, which she hadn’t been paying much attention to other than turning to her side to see if Leanne was around, so that she could remark on how much sin was going on in it.

Not that her comments bore much weight anymore, with anyone at all.

Her lawyer had long since stopped coming to visit.

***

There was a blessed relief in inaction. In ignoring. In forgetting. She’d not made a choice; she could tell herself that, she’d just pretended it didn’t happen and didn’t think about it, not really. But she found herself wishing, as they doped her up with new painkillers (some better ones, she noted) that she’d talked with Chapman to see what she could offer, if it had just been smoke and mirrors after all.

She hadn’t taken care of this one, hadn’t done all the stuff women were meant to do, but she seemed all right when they placed her on Tiffany’s chest, seemed all right as she wrapped her arms around her and held her tight.

She was failing this one, too. The sixth failed one.

But yet… there was still a chance. 

“Where will she go?” she asked, slurring her words, clinging to the baby, not ready to be apart just yet. 

“Foster care,” the woman, perfect blonde just like Chapman, explained, “When you get out, you can talk to us about custody.”

Tiffany looked up and nodded. Maybe she’d do that; maybe she’d come up with some reason besides not wanting to look like the biggest hypocrite in the world for keeping this baby and once she had that reason, she’d present it and smile and cry and do everything right. Maybe she’d keep off meth and stop going after people for disrespect, maybe she’d change.

Maybe she’d go back to the same old ways.

“What do you want to name her?” the question floated in midair and she wasn’t really sure who was asking it.

Tiffany let out a breath. She hadn’t really thought about it.

“Jessica,” she said quietly. “I’ll name her Jessica.”

And maybe, now that she’d named her, she could do right by her. And she didn’t need Chapman’s or anybody else’s help. 

She tilted up her eyes. 

“Could she stay here with me for just a little while?”

In that moment, everything wasn’t all right. But it could be.


End file.
